A Sanctum Safe from the Limelight: The Release of the Beast
by Quillon42
Summary: As Doctor Henry McCoy nears completion of his cure for Carly in that venerated, time-honored TAS episode, something goes strangely awry-especially just as a trio of teammates arrive to assist him against unwelcome Friends. In the wake of all this, another wondrous Beauty from way back helps offer him a way out from the ruckus, as well as the role he's always had to play.


A SANCTUM SO SAFE FROM THE LIMELIGHT: THE LUMINESCENT RELEASE OF THE BEAST

By Quillon42

SOMETIME IN 1994

These past several weeks now, Hank decided it would be better if he made the clinic, rather than the uncanny Chateau Charles, his home base. After all, he'd been so much closer to a cure for the lovely Carly, in terms of her lifelong blindness, than he'd ever been for his own ever-enduring beastliness. How Henry would have loved to have derived a treatment to take away the bane of his blue fur, just as he'd nearly completed the antidote to the darkness suffered by the young woman he'd wanted all this time…

But it was, in fact, the very endeavor of alleviating the scourge of sightlessness for Carly, that had taken the original Xer's mind off his own mutant mange, which had made him feel so fulfilled in the fact that he was succeeding in curing the curse of another when he could not do the same for his own azure-animalistically-afflicted self. Altruistic accomplishments such as these were what kept the Beast bounding, kept the hero's head high and hopeful that he may someday produce a panacea to abolish the anathema streaking out through the coarsest sapphire strands that smothered his skin.

And today, today would be prove to be the most profitable payday for that sage in a savage body who was the mutant McCoy. It would be late this morning, in fact, that the bandages would come off Carly's eyes, that the irises and pupils of the ever-so-innocent patient would finally focus on the features on someone whom she could actually see.

"I've been waiting for this day for so long, Henry," cooed Carly ever so saccharinely, her entire countenance combed over with aseptic dressings. With all the gauze grazing across her features, this lass so comely came off as a wholesomely erotic sort of Johnny Got His Gun (though here the face bandages weren't nearly as boxy).

Near to her, the hirsute cerulean scientist nodded softly, took her delicate digits into his own overbearing paw. To be certain, the results would make for a breakthrough; perhaps he could even apply what he achieved from this project to take care of Slim's old red-eye condition.

…Hmm, that was strange, Hank thought as he looked to the left of his seated prized-patient-cum-pristine-crush. Almost as if to speak, or rather to think, of the devil here—weren't those ruby quartz spectacles sitting there right beside Carly? What were those doing there? Surely Cyke hadn't happened along…well, McCoy did mention that he was almost where he had wanted to be in treating Carly, but still…

"Is something wrong, Doctor?" asked the squeaky-clean siren innocently, even she sensing a hint of tension in the air. Indeed, something did appear to be off, besides the foreboding bifocals alongside the girl.

As it would turn out, in fact, there were some very untoward Friends—the ubergenetic-averse Friends of Humanity, to be exact—who were set to invade the sanctity of this sanctum sanctorum of sight, this oasis of optometry. And in their overwhelming prejudice against those genetically on society's fringes, said Friends were not the most affable.

Hank could even hear now the pumping up the steps that these small town terrorists were taking by the twos. For certain, he and Carly would have only seconds before they would be erased from existence, the experiments all for naught.

The truth was, in fact, that the crusaders clambering up the stairs towards the sanctum of Hank, they were not those foes of the acronym FOH…

…but rather the enemy of those enemies, and arguably the three most obnoxious of those to wear the X, they all scrambling up the steps in an effort to warn the cobalt furball of an impending assault by the Friends upon his facility.

"Like, if we spent a little less time working on this trumped-up Viewmaster, maybe we coulda had a better chance of getting to Beast in time!" complained Jubilation, she hauling the projector that would later this episode expose First Friend Graydon Creed as the son of the bastard named Sabretooth.

"Ahh, mes braves…for all da naughty nurses I seen in this buildin'…I'd'a taken mah time investin' in some cheres fo' this foundation, non?" said the nimble yet needling Cajun alongside.

Then beside both the others, the most irritating of them all, especially with the undying exposure of his persona (which overshadowed immensely the immortality of his constitution)…to say nothing of his flusteringly Faux-Eastwoodian inflection: "You two don't quit jawbonin', we'll never be warning no one a'nothin'. Pick it up!"

Believing still a beat later that it was the Friends themselves making their way up the steps, and not the dysfunctional family to which he belonged for far too long, McCoy converted from dutiful, diligent scientist to defensive, dangerous chaperone, he looking to expedite now the ceremony of Carly's literally eye-opening experience regarding the onset of sight. In a trice he reached for the bandages bound to the young woman's face, something inside him reflecting as he proceeded upon how weighty the fabric felt in his hands of a sudden, while he wrested the wrappings from the girl's head…

…and then there shone, from underneath the eyelids of the heretofore blindness-bound babe, that same amaranth aura that would emit from the peepers of a peer with whom the animalistic intellectual had adventured with, over the course of so many issues and ages…

"Can I open my eyes now, Henry?"

A smile ever so innocent and unassuming…from the same face about to fire out the most wrathful of gazes…

"No…CARLY, NO!"

As the delicate fleshy folds unleashed functionally-focusing eyes for the first time unto this abject world…of which three of the douchiest denizens were about to manifest on-scene:

"Well, I can't see wh…"

[ZAAAAAARRRRRRKKKKKKKKK]

then just like that, the ensuing rubicund rage of Carly's hapless, merciless optic blast streaked across the airspace between clinic cot and the enclosure's exit, the discharge deluging in deadly damask the incoming canuck, the cajun, and that cacophony of superhumanity who made for anything but jubilation.

Another second and all that was left were wisps of smoke and the frayed remains of loud threads and other scant effects comprising three nasty Nineties costumes.

"Wha…

"… …Whh…"

Doctor McCoy couldn't even get anything more out than that—at least not several seconds later, after he'd instinctively bounded for those ruby quartz shades on the counter nearby and whisked them quickly upon the eyes of his pristine yet also now perilous patient. The shock from what had happened these fleeting seconds had caused Carly to faint, thank goodness; had she looked around a mite more just now, there might have been quite a leveling of lives otherwise, albeit by accident.

Hank couldn't do more a moment later than look, and continue to look, across the laboratory and upon the threesome of erasures that had one been allies of his. The tacky trench Remy rocked, now trashed; that gold jacket Jubilee brandished, now blasted; the cap and coat Logan donned in his disguise with the Friends, now demolished.

Another moment and McCoy made for a drawer nearby, took out a syringe, filled it with a fluid to put Carly out a bit longer, put her out of harm's way for another hour or two…all till he could figure out what should be done next.

Where he could have possibly gone wrong? The fiercely-framed scientist was sure all his calculations were correct; it just couldn't have been the stress of being put in prison almost all last season, or anything else unfortunate that made him misstep…

"I wouldn't worry about this too much."

Of a sudden a certain brilliance of a different sort bathed the gangly genius that was the Beast. He looked to his side, and a particular friend most fulgent appeared at his side.

The bestial brain almost wanted to pinch or even punch himself to make sure he wasn't imagining this. There feet away now, was a woman who haunted him, these several years, since an encounter he'd had with her about ten years back.

She was a lady far loftier than Trish Trilby or Vera Cantor could ever be…

…yet also a woman far worldlier, and frankly much more down to earth than the trumped-up titian titaness Jean Grey ever was, or ever would be.

"… …Alison?"

The vanilla blonde vision only blinked back, she beaming to the Beast glints of grace and peace the likes of which he'd not known at least since his rave-inducing rendezvous with another perfection in platinum locks, an unearthly entity of beauty and wonder by the name of Synthia Naip.

(NB: As this author had indicated before in another story, this reference is a bit obscure: See X-Factor: Prisoner of Love one-shot for clarification).

The soothing, savvy siren but blinked again, then addressed the tumbler in turquoise:

"Really, Hank…these things happen, under so much pressure.

He didn't even notice, in all the blinding omni-hued bulbs bursting in his vision now, that her figure was just adjacent to his own pilose person…

"I mean, whether it's all you white collars who work so hard under fluorescent office lights, like yourself…or like my dad Carter, in his law offices…

…then her face a foot from his own bristly cheeks…

"…or people like me who perform under illumination that's so much more magnified…"

…now her lips just a breath from his own barbarous mouth…

And then, the smothering smooch that followed, the carnal cascade crushing through Hank's head relegating Carly and her fate to an irrelevant afterthought.

…

Three minutes later, after more petting and pecking between siren and savage, the Blaire's assuring voice issuing its next song ever so softly upon the Beast's ears deafened so long by the drudgery of work and the desolation of loneliness…

"You don't have to consign yourself to these missions anymore, Henry. Don't need to commit yourself to the madness of this…series of animated insanity.

"You're better than this shit…you know?"

Even expletives from this embery emissary made like manna from her mouth. Next to her, the muff brush of a man listened to every syllable as if it were his most critical mission to date.

"Together, Henry…you and I can start our own story. Continue it, even…from the time of that quaint quartet of episodes a decade ago."

Alison opened her arms, embraced the Beast as she did in the upper left block of each of those four issues, over thirty years ago, reader's time.

In her own juncture here, Mid-Nineties, the beauteous Blaire was but a fancy footnote, a tawdry throwback…and she realized that she was lonely even in the alluring arms of Longshot, she eager now for emotions emitted by a real man, one whom she loved but let go far too soon, who dwarfed all those douchebags whom she dated in her own solo serial back in the Bronze Age.

Gifted now with the foresight of the flakiness of the animated episodes to come, Alison, she arguing ever so delicately with the innate attorney's talent she must have inherited from her lawyer father…

Orphan's End: "It's all about Scott. It's always all about Scott…isn't it, Hank? And even though there's this kickass blonde extraterrestrial Shi'ar chick in with facepaint that would make you think more Gene Simmons than Jean Grey…even Alien Kiss Groupie literally can't save the show from the typical Summers schmaltz…"

Henry thought of all the times he'd helped Slim in his tender troubles, whether with Jean or with Madelyne or with the alien clone of the original mutant Phoenix…McCoy himself never making out with any incredible redhead himself…

No Mutant Is An Island: "And then, of course, what's a given season without a healthy helping or ten of Marvel-Girl-bereavement-grieving? The entire team, laid out languishingly on the lawn of the Mansion, they all missing their mistress of the maroon mane…Scott envisioning his scarlet soulmate beckoning…even though the unrefined frames make it look like Jean's juggling air rather than motioning for her man…"

Again, McCoy sentimental, yet anger surging within…where was his love story here, other than one with eyes once blind and now ever blasting…one whom he knew he could never have anyway, no matter what her eyesight's status…

Jubilee's Fairytale Theatre: "…

"…

"…Don't even get me fucking started."

And again, through and through, Alison spoke so softly, so soothingly, even the cusses were caresses upon the Beast's wearied, animated-supporting-actor ears.

In the heavenly hazy hypnosis of sparking, sparkling lights, even a cerebral behemoth like Henry McCoy would never realize that it was this winsome one, closer to him than any woman in so long… who'd set it all in motion, from the girl's fatally errant eyesight to the resultant eradication of that trying trio…

…that adamantium ignoramus who absorbed more spotlight than Alison ever could, in a ceaseless consecution of singing careers…

…that shit from the South who supplanted her lanky luck-lathered lover, in terms of there being a sly guy with a sleek smile who was devilishly deft at throwing certain things…

…that fuckwad of a firework who replaced the lady herself, with her irrepressible petulance and her piddling pyrotechnics.

But now, with the particular…modifications perpetrated upon the cure for Carly, all those malevolent Machine-ations that led her and Longshot away from the limelight, they would all be undone in one wondrous welter of red.

"Let us be off now, Hank," said that devious, Dazzling dame now, as she took her tough guy in teal by the hand, away from his laboratory and his comely once-blind, now-blasting charge…away from the mansion and all those meh-personality mutants for whom Ali knew Henry was too good for, to continue to frequent that dungeon so dapper.

And it was, then, that the light-lavished lady and Doctor McCoy once again became the Beauty and the Beast, to enjoy themselves in an Elysium of obscurity that would bring the savage sapphire savant from a place where he was embattled to one in which he was ebullient, would vindicate that vanilla vixen for the sweeping aside she suffered the years previous. In particular, the Beast would truly receive the boon of a release far greater than that afforded him in the prior season, when he was sidelined in the prison, convicted for his convictions; now the man was free for good of the sidekick's shackles to which he was relegated for far too long.


End file.
